


Not Sorry

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Bullying, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fake Castiel/Charlie Bradbury, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Underage Sex, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-29 02:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: Determined to keep Dean from being outed to the school and to his father, Cas goes to great lengths to protect the secret of their relationship. When Cas realizes one of Dean’s teammates might be figuring it out anyway, he takes things a step further to makesureno one suspects anything.Still, perhaps he should have let Dean in on the plan . . .





	Not Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Dean and Cas are eighteen-years-old and in the second semester of their senior year, for anyone who wants clarification.
> 
> Not beta read, all mistakes are mine. Please do not repost. This is ridiculously melodramatic and maybe even a little bit crack-y, so proceed with caution.

Dean Winchester looks at him sometimes.

Not _so_ often — but enough that it seems strange. Cas is nobody, and thus, nobody looks at him.

Dean does, though, and it’s especially strange, because Dean is _somebody_.

Dean is just months from graduating as one of the most popular boys in school; he’s the extremely talented quarterback of the football team, and son to its coach, who has led them to the state finals every year since he took up the position. And even without the sports achievements he’s so disproportionately rewarded for, Dean is clearly something special. He’s been in all of Cas’s AP classes for the last two years, and while he’s not in the running for valedictorian, Cas is pretty sure he’s doing well in all of them. Dean doesn’t contribute much in class anymore, but still, Cas has peer-graded a couple of his papers and noted how quickly he finishes his math exams, and he’s confident that Dean is very bright.

(Of course, it also helps that Dean is the most beautiful human being Cas has ever laid eyes on, and his peers seem to agree.)

But Dean is also interesting, because despite the fact that he seems to have everything going for him, he also seems _unhappy._

Cas couldn’t possibly know for sure, but it _seems _like Dean doesn’t really like his teammates that much, even though they would appear to be friends, always traveling in groups and eating lunch together. It _seems _like Dean comes back from football practice looking exhausted, and not just in body.

It _seems _that he has things he wants to say, things he bites back, that make his eyes glaze over as he turns away.

But again — Cas couldn’t possibly know for sure.

He is sure, however, that Dean looks at him sometimes.

He knows, because he is always looking back.

\-----------

The football team must have a great deal to compensate for, because they like to bully people, people who are quiet and keep to themselves — and usually, people who are younger.

Still, one day, they decide _Cas _will make a good target.

It’s a surprise, certainly, because Cas is a fellow senior and he’s been left alone for years, but it pales in comparison to what happens next.

Nothing.

Nothing happens, because as soon as they have his attention, as soon as Cas realizes what is probably _going _to happen, Dean calls out some excuse to hasten them away.

\-----------

That’s not the end of it, of course. Now that they’ve noticed Cas, it will be a while before they get tired — possibly until graduation — but whenever Dean is there among the group, he finds some reason or another to cut their fun short, to lead them away.

It’s curious. Cas is — curious.

He finds himself watching even more now, when he didn’t dare before, too afraid he’d draw attention. He watches Dean every chance he gets, takes the long way to classes hoping to catch another glimpse, to grasp one more piece of a puzzle that fascinates him far more than it should.

Cas is not the only one the team likes to mess with, he finds, but he does seem to be the only one Dean will try to lead them away from.

Still, Dean never participates. He stands to the side, jaw clenched, eyes downcast. Cas can’t quite describe the look on his face as his teammates push and shove and yell those hateful things. He’s not sure he knows that feeling.

He’s not sure he wants to.

He thinks he identifies it eventually, though. It’s the same look Dean wears after the team loses one weekend, when he comes to school on Monday with an ugly bruise darkening one eye and cheek.

Cas has heard things, has had suspicions, but this just confirms it:

John Winchester is not a nice man.

\-----------

Anyway, Cas puzzles over this treatment — this lack of it — from Dean, until one day he finds himself exiting a stall in the men’s room to see Dean there, washing his hands.

Their eyes meet in the mirror; they both look startled.

“Uh. Hey,” Dean says, and Cas holds his gaze as he moves to wash his own. He takes the sink next to Dean, even though there are three others stretching out on his other side.

It doesn’t occur to him to do anything different.

Dean, for his part, just stands, watching him, his own hands undried and dripping at his sides until Cas is done. Eventually, Cas breaks eye contact to get them both a sheet of paper towel, and Dean looks down at the offered square like it’s a bird with a broken wing.

_ Why are you giving this to me? How did this happen? I’m so sorry. How can I fix it?_

But then Dean takes it, crumpling it and patting at his half-dry hands while they look at each other. Cas thinks, distantly, that he should show Dean the proper way to use a paper towel, sometime.

The silence stretches on long after they’re done; Cas is afraid someone will come in, a sense of urgency creeping up on him like the potential student hasn’t, and he wonders why.

“I’d never hurt you,” Dean blurts out, and Cas furrows his brow. He opens his mouth, but Dean looks vaguely ill as he hurries to continue. “I wouldn’t — I haven’t. I mean, I know — I probably do, just by being part of that, but I wouldn’t, um. I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Cas says. He believes it. He’s not sure why Dean is telling him.

“So — so I’m gonna — so what I’m gonna do, you can just — push me away or punch me. I won’t — you don’t need to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” Cas tells him, wondering what Dean is going to do, wondering why his heart is beating fast in a way plain curiosity never makes it.

Dean looks relieved.

“Thank you,” he says, and then he kisses Cas, and suddenly, Cas thinks he understands everything. About Dean; about himself.

About them.

\-----------

“Watch where you’re walking,” Dean snaps, shoving Cas hard after going out of his way to pass him.

Cas lets himself stumble to the ground, watches Dean’s hands twitch after him as his teammates break into loud guffaws.

“The hell, Novak, you made of paper or somethin’?” one of them calls. “A stiff wind could blow you over.”

“I think he’d rather a stiff guy just blow him,” another one sneers, and Dean’s fists clench.

“You just gonna sit there, Novak?”

Cas blinks up at him.

“Yes. I’m waiting for you to leave. If I stand up while you’re here, you’ll just push me again.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, a muscle at the corner of his mouth jumping.

“Jesus, you have a mouth on you.”

“Sorry,” Cas says, and he almost means it.

“Think he’s hopin’ you’ll pin him down or something,” the first teammate crows, and Cas watches as Dean goes pale.

“What a goddamn freak,” he mutters, kicking one of Castiel’s books so that it skids practically halfway down the hall. “Let’s go.”

They turn and walk away, and once they round the corner, a redheaded girl comes to help him stand up and gather his stuff.

“What a bunch of jerks,” she rages. “And Dean! Dean used to be _nice. _He used to play D&D with me—” Cas doesn’t know what that is “—and he made me a pie on my fifteenth birthday! I mean, fine, don’t hang out with me, but _bullying_? So not cool.”

“Thank you,” he says, once everything but the textbook down the hall is collected.

She huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“Sure. What’d you do to piss him off, anyway? I mean, yeah, he’s been totally lame since his Dad made him join the football team, but I’ve never seen him be so mean to someone.”

Cas shrugs, and they move at a leisurely pace toward that last book.

“Do people like that need a reason?”

She frowns, staring in the direction the team has long since departed.

“Like those assholes? No. Like Dean?” she pauses. “I would have said ‘yes.’”

Cas looks down at the textbook Dean kicked, and it’s as he suspected.

_A History of America._

Cas hates that class above all others.

The redhead, who introduces herself as Charlie, is right.

Cas doesn’t tell her what the reason is.

\-----------

Dean is going to leave bruises.

“You’ve gotta stop,” he hisses, and Cas shudders.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re fuckin’ not, and I don’t get it.” Impossibly, his grip tightens, eyes wild as he stares up at Cas. “You didn’t have a class anywhere _near_ that goddamn hall. But nah, you knew I’d be there, didn’t you?”

Cas can’t look at him any more, for a number of reasons, and he buries his face in the side of Dean’s neck, cheek sliding along the damp skin with every sharp movement of their bodies.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he says again, and he is. He’s not sorry he did it, but he’s sorry he has to, and he’s sorry Dean doesn’t understand why.

Dean’s not done ranting, even as his fingers flex on Cas’s hips, his pace becoming erratic. Cas just wraps his arms more tightly around Dean’s neck and holds on, just listens.

“Stop — stop saying _sorry. _I don’t want you to be _sorry, _I want you to stop. I — I don’t get why you have to — _jesus _—“

“I’ve told you,” Cas chokes out, pressing his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and clinging tight. “I don’t — if they find out—”

Dean’s breath is coming fast, now, and Cas is surprised he can even find his voice.

“Then — I’ll — deal with it. And if — you keep —_stalking _me, they’re gonna — ask — q-questions—”

Dean _can’t _find his voice after that, and neither can Cas, or else he’d tell Dean he doesn’t think any of them are that clever.

It’s a nice reprieve from the lecture, but it doesn’t last.

“I mean it, Cas,” Dean says quietly, still breathless by the time Cas musters the energy to slide off his lap, stretching his legs out in the footwell of the car with a sigh of relief as he curls into Dean’s side. “I wish you’d stop.”

“I wish you’d understand why I can’t.”

“What are you proving, here?”

He’s not proving anything; he is, however, keeping their secret the only way he knows how.

He kisses Dean, and Dean kisses him back without hesitation, and _that _is a good enough reason for all of it.

“I said I’d never hurt you,” Dean whispers a little while later, and Cas sighs, burrowing closer.

“And you never have.”

He can tell Dean doesn’t believe him, but it’s true.

After all, Cas is just trying to return the favor.

\-----------

Cas underestimated them.

Or he underestimated one of them.

“Hello, Castiel.”

He recognizes Uriel. Uriel doesn’t deign to push him around, to hurl insults and slurs at him. He just stands off to the side and looks on, like Dean used to.

Unlike Dean, he does it with a look of such contempt, Cas is pretty sure the only reason he doesn’t participate is because he finds Cas utterly beneath him.

“Uriel.”

Uriel lifts his chin, disdain apparent.

“The roof is no place for wayward souls,” he says slowly, voice an unsettling combination of rich and cold. “But then, you seem to be a lot of places you don’t belong.”

“I do attend this school,” Cas points out, wary of the suggestion, of the ambiguity in it.

“Unfortunately.” Uriel’s lips curl. “It’s funny, Castiel. You’re such a difficult person to find — unless Dean Winchester is with us.”

Cas regards him calmly, though his heart is racing. Perhaps Dean was right. Perhaps Cas has been a fool; in his righteous crusade to protect Dean, perhaps he went too far.

He was so busy being worried someone would suspect Dean, he forgot there was another part to this equation.

“I just want to be left alone.”

Uriel is silent for a moment, and then he tilts his head back and laughs, deep and amused.

“No, Castiel. I don’t think you do.”

Unnerved, Castiel heads swiftly for the door.

\-----------

He can fix this.

From the moment Dean kissed him in the boys’ restroom, Cas’s eyes opened up. All those looks Dean sent him, before — all the looks he sent him _after _— suddenly, it was obvious. Cas didn’t know how he’d missed it.

He was afraid someone else wouldn’t.

Of course, he was so busy worrying that if Dean didn’t say terrible things, if Dean didn’t lay hands on him in ways meant to hurt, someone would take one look at the way Dean watched him and just _know _— that he’d failed to stop and wonder about himself. After all, no one pays any attention to Cas.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Now that he knows someone is, though, he’s hyperaware of all the things he feels, still so strange and new and overwhelming, and the fact that he cannot see himself to know how they manifest in his eyes, in his body.

Dean may have kissed him first, but Cas is confident he does not feel all these things that Cas does. Every day, Cas marvels that they don’t just tear him apart; Dean, for all his bluster over Cas’s antics, remains remarkably intact, and he has ten times as many other things to pull at him.

No; if Cas thinks Dean is obvious, then _he _must be a glaring truth, blinding in its desperate, uncontained light.

He needs to find a way to hide it.

“Do you trust me?” he asks Dean, later that day, tangled up on the car seat.

Dean’s lips quirk, green eyes twinkling.

“I dunno, Cas. This sounds kinky.”

“It’s not kinky, Dean,” Cas assures him, and Dean sighs.

“Never is, with you.” He pauses, a shadow blanketing the humor. “Unless you count your stupid thing with the bullying.”

Cas tilts his head.

“Being bullied is not my kink.”

“So why do you make me do it?”

Cas just shakes his head, resting his palms on either side of Dean’s face.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Now you know how I feel.”

“_Dean.”_

Dean huffs, turning to press a kiss to Cas’s hand. His lips are warm, soft and dry where they dip into the hollow.

“Yeah, buddy, I trust you.”

Cas aches.

The next day, he gets himself a girlfriend.

\-----------

“I should have had more conditions,” Charlie grumbles.

“Sorry,” Cas says. He’s not. His next two months’ allowance are already going toward Comic Con tickets.

“I should have come out to Dean that time we had to play seven minutes in heaven. Which, _hello_, past me! You’re a lesbian, don’t play seven minutes in heaven with straight kids!”

Cas pauses.

“You played seven minutes in heaven with Dean?”

Charlie shrugs.

“Yeah. Well, more like two minutes. He said it felt kinda incestuous. I agreed.”

“Well,” Cas says, mollified. “Thank you for trusting me with your secret.”

“Sure. You trusted me with yours.”

Cas is puzzled for a long moment, until he thinks to question the fact that they’re even talking about Dean, when Cas has told her nothing about why he needs a fake girlfriend.

Charlie gives him a kind smile.

“We’re besties now. I know your schedule. You’re a lot of places you don’t really need to be, you know.”

He lets his eyes fall shut. _Idiot, _he chides himself. Dean was _right, _and it’s vaguely infuriating.

Charlie just pats him on the back.

\-----------

After lunch, he follows Charlie to her locker.

“As my devoted fake boyfriend, you’re supposed to trail after me and carry my books and stuff,” she explains, slowly doing her combination and considering her options for a long moment.

“Charlie,” Cas starts, suspicious. “Surely you know what books you need.”

“Nope. But I will. Aaany minute now.”

Cas tilts his head, and then Charlie brightens, grinning wide.

“_There. _Alright, bestie, let’s do this.”

“Do what?”

“Dean’s gonna be _so _jealous,_” _she continues, “He’ll have no choice but to admit he likes you!”

Which seems like an odd thing to —

Warm lips suddenly close over his, arms thrown around his neck with great enthusiasm, and Cas lets himself be pulled down, startled.

“Grab my butt,” she hisses out of the corner of her mouth, and Cas is too surprised by this turn of events not to obey. Charlie hikes her leg a little, hooking a beat-up converse around his calf.

She smells like strawberries, which is not unpleasant, but she’s also several inches shorter than him, and he decides he definitely doesn’t love the gap. When he kisses Dean, he just has to tilt his head (and maybe push up on his toes a fraction, if he feels inclined), and Dean meets him halfway.

Squeezing Charlie’s butt feels very strange. Dean and Charlie are both fit people, and he suspects Charlie must do some kind of frequent jumping activity, but despite the not-disparate firmness of their respective butts, Cas feels very awkward with a hand on Charlie’s.

He immediately feels guilty for his train of thought. Touching Dean’s butt is probably very uncomfortable for anyone who isn’t in lust with him, and Charlie is a friend who is doing Cas a favor — well, letting him pay her to do him a favor; it’s not nice or fair to unilaterally declare her the owner of a lesser butt, especially given his undeniable bias.

_Ha! Bi-ass_! Dean’s voice crows in his head, and he smiles.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Charlie mutters, and Cas is about to pull away to respond, and also to ask why she is trying to be so convincing in their display, when a loud voice calls over.

“Holy _shit, _Novak!”

That’s Cole Trenton. Football players do not travel alone, which means he has an audience of at least two, but probably more, to perform for.

_What would Dean do_? he asks himself, and in the next moment, decisively pushes Charlie up against the neighboring locker, swallowing her squeak of surprise, and tries to kiss her the way Dean kisses him.

It loses something in the translation, he decides.

There’s whoops and catcalls, indicating a very large audience indeed, and only when Charlie pinches his side does he step back, carefully not looking at the crowd, lest he reveal his true intentions.

He holds out his arms, raising a brow.

“Your books?”

Charlie’s eyes flick to something beyond him, and when they quickly bounce back to Cas, she’s beaming.

“I am the greatest person ever,” she declares, and dumps half her locker into his waiting arms.

\-----------

Finally, Cas gets a moment with Dean alone.

They both move like molasses after their shared gym class that afternoon, and Cas is pleased that Dean seems to sense his desire to speak with him, even though Cas usually warns him off talking at school.

He feigns distraction as the last few students finish dressing, smoothing his shirt for the eighth time as he prepares a speech in his head.

He finds himself hesitant.

Dean hated his last plan, even though he went through with it, and if Cas tells him about this new one, then he’ll know he was _right. _Dean’s not without his flaws; if he thinks he has the justification, he’ll try to forbid Cas from acting, just on principle.

But this is a _good plan. _Cas has thought it through; this is exactly what he needs to do to protect Dean. Just because Dean doesn’t want to be protected doesn’t make it a good reason not to do it.

After all, Dean said he trusted him. Isn’t that enough? Does Cas really need to make Dean worry, to inevitably try and be responsible for things he shouldn’t have to, simply for the sake of transparency?

No, he decides, as he hears the door shut behind the final student, followed by a sharp, heavy noise, like a bolt sliding into place. This is not something they need to talk about.

Cas can handle it.

He turns, ready to ask Dean a stupid, nonsense question about plans for later, but he doesn’t get a chance. His back hits the lockers with a stinging thud, firm hands on his shoulders holding him in place, and when he sees the hard glint in Dean’s eyes, he briefly wonders if he’s woken up in an alternate universe where Dean really _is _his bully.

“Since you seem to like that trick,” he says bitterly, and Cas’s mouth falls open in surprise at the venom in it.

Dean’s eyes flick to his parted lips, one hand moving to cup his jaw, fingers digging in just a touch as his thumb presses down on Cas’s bottom lip, and Cas doesn’t think; instinctively, he pushes back against that hand, Dean’s thumb sliding past his lip and into his mouth, touching his waiting tongue as he closes his lips around it.

Dean flinches, expression twisting.

“I don’t get you,” he says, sounding lost, and Cas would ask, but in the next moment, Dean’s withdrawn his hand, replacing it with his mouth in a kiss vastly different from all the ones they’ve shared before.

Cas kisses back anyway, feeling out the rhythm to this. He’s conflicted. He likes it when Dean clutches at him, likes the physical representation of being held together when he’s flying apart, but there’s something besides _want _fueling an aggression Cas wouldn’t usually mind, and he’s not sure about that part.

Dean’s mouth is hungry and unforgiving, and Cas is so used to the natural give-and-take of their kisses that he’s unsettled by not knowing what to offer here, how to appease him. When he tangles his fingers in Dean’s hair, surging forward to match his intensity, he gets shoved back.

Dean steps away before Cas can test any more theories on what he might want, and he doesn’t meet Cas’s eyes.

“I don’t get you,” he repeats, wiping his mouth. “I said I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” Cas says, breathless, searching Dean’s shuttered expression for direction.

Dean’s lips press together.

“Yeah, well. Some reciprocation would be nice,” he mutters, and then he turns, leaving Cas to watch his back as he unlocks the door and disappears into the hall.

\-----------

Cas is about to start walking home after math club (not that he’s going to _finish _walking home; two blocks away, Dean will pick him up by the scrawny aspen with the weather-worn bird-feeder, and _eventually, _Cas will end up at home) when Charlie corners him.

“Mr. Bradbury,” she greets him, pecking his lips. Cas tears his distracted gaze away from the Impala, sitting empty in the back lot.

“Oh — hello, Charlie.”

She winks, reaching up to fiddle with his collar and using the proximity to mutter, “Put your arm around me, you goose!” out the corner of her mouth.

Cas obliges, slipping an arm around her waist, and she leans into him with a loud, pronounced sigh.

He is aware, suddenly, of many pairs of eyes on them.

_Don’t look, _he commands himself. Charlie _is _gay, and Cas _is _in a committed relationship with the only person to whom he’s ever been attracted enough to bother attempting such a thing, and if one of them messes up even a _little, _people are bound to notice there’s something important missing here.

He leans his chin awkwardly on her head, and feels a thumbs-up against his back.

“How, um, how are you, sweetheart?”

Charlie bites her lip, clearly trying not to laugh, and he bites _his_ lip, trying not to scowl.

When he and Dean are both biting their lips, it usually means they’re about to make out, though, so perhaps other students will draw the wrong conclusion.

“_Super _swell, honeybee,” she teases. “We have a _date _tonight, remember?”

Her voice carries across the back pavilion, and a chorus of whispers bounce back.

He made an excellent choice in Charlie, he decides.

And then he remembers Dean.

“Uhhh,” he starts, and she grins widely, eyes intent with warning. “Yes. Of course. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

She beams, slapping him on the back and then wincing for a split second before the big smile returns and the hand on his back smoothly slides down to his butt.

Charlie seems to think butt-touching is a key feature of a realistic relationship, he’s noticed. He likes Dean’s butt a lot, certainly, but he can’t remember ever casually grabbing at it.

Dean, though — Dean seems to like touching Cas’s butt a _lot. _Cas isn’t sure if he would paw at it casually in public settings, though; in private, once his hands make it there, things usually . . . _escalate__._

But what if Dean _would _touch Cas’s butt a lot? Does it matter? The fact is, he touches Cas’s a lot more than Cas touches his, and if Charlie’s behavior is any indication, that may be a problem. It may, in fact, lead to Dean feeling _unwanted_.

Cas flexes his fingers, a sense of determination rising within him. Next time he sees Dean — assuming they’re alone — he is going to _make sure _he gives Dean’s butt the attention it, as a butt belonging to a cherished partner, _deserves._

“Well, let’s go!” Charlie declares, prodding at him. “Your chariot awaits, my prince.”

She hustles him to a petite yellow beetle. He feels too small as he settles into the front seat. There’s a gap between the two seats, and since Charlie is in the other one, he supposes he doesn’t mind, but he’s homesick for the Impala nonetheless.

“Okay, dude. Just _try _to guess where I’m taking you tonight.”

Dean would probably take him to the Roadhouse so Cas could hang out during his shift, Dean shooting him winks and smiles while he ferried trays to and from the tables, and then on to some deserted backroad or field for intimate activities when it was over.

Charlie huffs.

“My _God, _you’re a terrible boyfriend.”

Cas’s head snaps up.

“I am?”

“Pro tip: not listening makes you a _terrible _boyfriend.”

Cas swallows.

Perhaps, he tells himself, but in that case, he’s _not _a terrible boyfriend.

Listening and obeying are different, aren’t they?

“_Anyway,_” she continues firmly. “You and I are going to a certain little dive on the other side of town called the _Roadhouse. _Ever heard of it?”

Cas nearly chokes.

“Yes?”

She looks disappointed.

“Have you already eaten there?”

“ . . . yes?”

Her expression clears.

“Ohhh, I see. Hot damn, Cas, you really did your research! Like, nobody knows about that part of Dean’s family.”

“Mhm.” Charlie seems unaware that he and Dean are already dating, and Cas intends to keep it that way. He feels bad, lying to a friend, but it’s not his truth to tell, and honestly? He doesn’t trust _anyone _not to accidentally reveal Dean’s secrets. He feels guilty every time Dean picks him up by the aspen tree, because he doesn’t even trust _them, _and he knows he’s selfishly jeopardizing everything important to Dean by letting himself have this.

But that’s why he’s making it up in other ways.

“Welp, then you know that Dean’s there a lot.”

“Uh. Yes.”

“But nobody else is.”

“Right.”

“Which _means, _he might actually be comfortable enough to react.”

“Ah,” Cas acknowledges politely. Dean probably will react. Cas can practically _hear _him whisper-shouting ‘_What the hell, Cas?!’ _in the alley behind the bar, where they usually make out on Dean’s break.

Cas suddenly remembers how Dean left him in the locker room, and a queasy feeling pools, thick and strange in his stomach. He’s still confused about that; perhaps he should be cautious in making predictions about how Dean will react.

And now Cas won’t even be waiting by the tree.

He scrambles to get his phone out of his pocket and text Dean.

Text him _what, _though? He’ll see him soon enough, anyway, and Dean will just be more confused, and then he’ll be annoyed, because he’s _always _annoyed with Cas’s ‘stupid schemes,’ and then _Cas _will get annoyed, and actually, Charlie will probably be confused and annoyed, too, and how on _earth _did this get so complicated?

“Woah, who’re you texting in such a hurry?”

Cas blanks.

“Uh. My — my mother.”

Charlie snorts.

“Yeeeah, I should have guessed. You look like the type.”

Cas doesn’t bother trying to parse that, focused on getting his message sent before Dean gets to the tree and worries.

<< _Need to eat at Roadhouse with Charlie, may see you there. Sorry._

“Anyways,” Charlie continues, oblivious. “So, once Dean’s seen us and we’ve eaten, we’re heading back to town and going to the arcade!”

Cas blinks.

“Why?”

“_Because, _scads of kids hang out there. We can have fun and play games _and _make sure everybody knows we’re dating. Two birds with one stone!”

“Oh.” This is a nice plan, actually. “That does sound fun.”

“You _bet,_” she enthuses, then cackles. “Best plan _ever_. Dean’s gonna stew in his jealousy all night after seeing us together at the Roadhouse, only to get to school tomorrow and hear about our awesome date.”

Cas doesn’t doubt Dean will stew all night, but it’s not going to have anything to do with jealousy.

But Cas’s plan will work. He’ll see. Cas has enough faith for both of them.

“Of course,” Charlie says suddenly, shooting him a worried look. “Don’t be disappointed if nothing happens just yet, okay? I’ve known Dean since we were kids, and he’s a tough egg to crack, so this is probably gonna take a while. _But, _I _have _known Dean since we were kids, so I can promise you that if he wants something _really_ bad, he’ll try for it, even if he thinks it’s a bad idea, or that he doesn’t deserve it, or — and this one’s pretty wild to see **— **he doesn’t even realize he’s trying.”

Cas considers this, thinks about Dean kissing him in the boys’ restroom for the first time, despite everything he stood to lose by doing it, and warmth engulfs him.

Was Cas something he wanted ‘really bad’?

Cas unconsciously squares his shoulders.

All the more reason to protect Dean.

“Thank you again for doing this, Charlie,” he says. He doesn’t know who else he could have asked.

“Thanks for the Comic Con boost,” she shoots back, smirking, and he shakes his head.

“Still. This is — it’s asking a lot. I’m grateful.” He hesitates. “You’re a very good friend.”

Charlie gives him a sidelong glance, staying quiet as she pulls into the Roadhouse lot and parks. Then she unbuckles her seatbelt with a snap and grins at him.

“No,” she says. “I am a _best _friend. Hugs!”

She tackles him.

Cas laughs, and returns her embrace.

He hopes they’re best friends for a long time.

He hopes she won’t be mad he lied.

\-----------

Dean stares at him throughout dinner.

Cas does his best to focus on Charlie, even when her eyes flicker to the side and back to him with a slow, mischievous smile, but it’s hard not to notice. Cas is always hyperaware of where Dean is at and what he’s doing when they’re in a room together, and tonight is no exception.

And he is definitely staring at Cas.

The few times Cas dares glance over, Dean's expression is alarmingly blank, despite his focused attention. It’s making Cas uncomfortable; Dean doesn’t talk a lot about how he feels — unless he’s angry, because he seems to have a much easier time verbalizing anger — but it’s usually there in his eyes and his face and the way his whole body moves, and Cas has had the privilege of learning that silent language over the last few months. He’s not an expert, but he’s conversant enough to take comfort in whatever he can read off Dean, in knowing, to some degree, where he’s at.

But tonight, Dean is still, and his expression is still, and all his eyes are is watchful.

Charlie slides a hand across the table, lacing their fingers together.

It’s not bad — Cas decides he likes holding hands with Charlie, in a very different way than he likes holding hands with Dean, because it reminds him of when he and Anna were young — but it does present a problem.

“We’re eating burgers,” he points out, a little hesitant. Dean gets flustered and irritated when you point out contradictions or flaws in his logic, so one must be careful; Cas doesn’t know what Charlie is like, yet.

She narrows her eyes a fraction.

“Eat your fries for a little bit. He’s watching.”

_I know, _Cas almost says, but obligingly dips a fry in ketchup. It feels wrong, somehow, like he’s eating out of order.

He startles when a foot slides up his leg.

“That’s my leg.”

She has her trying-not-to-laugh face on.

“I know, dummy. We’re playing footsie.”

“But we’re already holding hands,” he protests. _And no one from school is here to see this, so it doesn’t really help me. _He can’t say that, though. “We, um. We don’t want to look like we’re trying too hard.”

Charlie considers this.

“True. But we just started dating. People in the honeymoon phase can’t get enough of each other.”

Cas hesitates.

He doesn’t know a lot about honeymoon phases. When he and Dean first started dating, they couldn’t even talk when other people were around, for the most part.

Dean does eat with him here, sometimes, since it’s far away and mostly caters to older people, but he never does anything that could be construed as more-than-platonic where someone can see them.

On the other hand, when they’re alone, Dean seems to touch him every chance he gets.

Are they still in the honeymoon phase? Or did they not have one at all?

Cas feels weirdly disappointed, thinking he might have been deprived.

“My terrible boyfriend,” Charlie sighs fondly, shaking her head and squeezing his hand to draw him back to the conversation.

“Oh. Sorry.” He is, a little, but he thinks he had a good excuse.

“No worries, Cas. I’m a great girlfriend, so I can make up for it.” She winks. “Okie dokie. I think we’ve tormented Dean enough. You ready to go let me kick your ass at skee-ball?”

He narrows his eyes, distracted from his relief that this awkward time will be ending soon.

“I don’t know that that will happen.”

“Dude, I am the skee-ball _queen. _It’s gonna happen.”

“We’ll see.”

\-----------

Charlie _does _beat him at skee-ball, but it’s so close, he refuses to call it an ‘ass-kicking.’

\-----------

“Nice going, Novak.”

Walt something-or-other slaps him on the back, hard enough that he stumbles.

“Excuse me?” he asks, wary as he turns. It’s just two of them, today. Hopefully this will be quick. Cas has a quiz in French.

“Bradbury? Little redheaded firecracker?” A lewd grin follows. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“She’s always been a real bitch, shot down everybody that asked her, but look at you, nerd,” Roy adds. “What’s that like?”

“What is . . . what like?” Cas asks slowly. He’s not really sure how not wanting to date other people makes you a ‘bitch,’ and is genuinely startled to find there is space for his opinion of these people to get _lower_.

Walt rolls his eyes.

“When you fuck her,” he clarifies. “Red hair live up to its name?”

Cas has learned, when it comes to bullies, that the least said the better, and the least done, the quicker it’s over.

That said, it takes a lot of self-control not to punch Walt in the throat.

“Don’t talk about her that way,” he snaps.

Walt’s brows go up.

“Woah, what the hell? It’s just a question. Settle down, little man.”

“It’s a rude question. Don’t ask it.”

Roy whistles.

“Who knew Novak was one o’ _those _guys? Must be some magic pussy, for you to get all-”

He doesn’t get to finish, because while being subjected to uncreative taunts about his nerdiness or sexual orientation is incredibly _tedious _for Cas, hearing someone — particularly Cas’s new best friend — reduced to _parts _provokes a fury that surprises even himself.

Roy is a little bigger than him, but Cas has the advantage of surprise, until Walt recovers from his shock and steps in.

Cas will be sore and bruised for the next week, at least, but on the bright side, he ends up punching Walt in the throat after all.

\-----------

“_What the hell were you thinking?” _Dean yells the moment Cas gets in the car, and Cas flinches. Whatever apprehension he’d had over having a chance to talk with Dean was greatly outweighed by his eagerness to see him at all, and he wasn’t quite expecting to be yelled at.

“Your _friends,_” Cas says after a moment, “Are horrible people. I was _thinking _someone should let them know that.”

Dean’s knuckles are white where he grips the steering wheel.

“No fucking _shit, _they’re horrible people! That’s not new! You let them push you around and call you names, you make _me_—” he cuts off, shaking his head. “So how come you decide _now, _that you’re ready to hit back, huh?”

“I don’t care what they say to me, but you didn’t hear what they were saying about Charlie. I couldn’t stand by.”

Dean gapes at him, right up until another car honks and he jerks the steering back on course.

“You — you couldn’t —” He takes a deep breath. “So this was about _Charlie_.”

“They were being _awful _—”

“_They’re always awful_!” Dean shouts. “Have you fucking _heard _the things they’ve said to you? _About _you? And not only do you expect _me _to just stand by, you ask me to — to — but they trash-talk _Charlie _and suddenly it’s_ too much_?”

Cas furrows his brow, not sure how those other things are related.

“Charlie is important to me, and even if she wasn’t, it wasn’t like their other insults. They were speculating, in the most offensive way possible, on how she was when we were intimate —”

Dean slams on the brakes, the car swerving into the shoulder as the vehicle behind them honks again, speeding past. Cas doesn’t have a steering wheel to hold on to, and he does his best to brace himself against the glovebox.

“Cas,” Dean says once they’re stopped, calm in a way that somehow doesn’t feel calm, in a way that has the hair on the back of Cas’s neck rising. “Have you been intimate with Charlie?”

Cas stares, taken aback by the question.

“Of course not. You and I are —”

The car lurches back in motion, Dean smoothly rejoining traffic.

“Okay, Cas.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Anyway, I—”

“Nope,” Dean says stiffly. “No, just — don’t talk. I don’t — I can’t do this right now.”

Cas frowns. Do what?

He almost asks, but Dean told him not to talk, so he decides to wait until Dean collects himself.

The silence stretches on, and in his discomfort, Cas begins to doubt himself. He doesn’t regret the fight, not at all, but perhaps he’s being callous. Cas is covered in scrapes and bruises, and he’s gathered by now that Dean doesn’t like to see him hurt. Dean always complains about having to push him around, and the one time Cas tried to convince him to punch him — not hard, mostly just for show — Dean got so angry he threatened to announce over the school loudspeaker, in explicit detail, exactly what they’d done in the back of the Impala the night before unless Cas dropped the subject and never brought it up again.

Cas thought Dean was overreacting, but now? He’s not so sure.

Dean has been hurt in these ways, after all; he’s probably especially sensitive to inflicting the same hurt on others, to seeing them be hurt that way as well.

_Some_ _ reciprocation would be nice._

Maybe Cas _is_ being an asshole, now.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, and while it can’t fix what’s already happened, and it’s certainly not an apology for making the choices he did, he is frustrated and regretful that something necessary must also be so damaging to Dean.

Dean just shakes his head and drives.

To Cas’s disappointment, they go straight to Cas’s house.

“Put some ice on that,” Dean mutters, not looking at him, and after a long moment, Cas gets out of the car.

Dean drives away without a backward glance.

The bruises along Cas’s ribs seem to throb.

\-----------

Charlie is waiting by his locker the next morning, and she envelops him in a fierce, squeezing hug when she sees him. He winces.

“You idiot,” she sniffs, oblivious. “Look at those bruises. We’re _fake_-dating, you know. You don’t have to go that far.”

Cas scowls.

“We’re real ‘besties,’” he counters. “And you could have been a stranger and I still would have found it unacceptable.”

Charlie just squeezes tighter.

“I’m glad we’re besties, Cas. Just so you know, I’d punch somebody for you, too.”

“Thank you. Please don’t.” He holds her tight, despite his injuries. “I, also, am glad we’re besties, Charlie.”

Somebody yells at them to get a room, and Charlie pulls away, lightly socking his shoulder.

“Damn right you are,” she says cheerfully, discreetly wiping at her eye. “Evil geniuses like me don’t come along every dynasty.”

He smiles, and when she subtly points at her cheek, kisses it before he goes to class.

\-----------

Despite the fact that Cas was doing the _right thing, _it seems his so-called defense of Charlie’s honor is the most convincing bit of their performance yet. Even with all the carefully timed kisses here and there, and a baffling ritual of carrying her books in one arm while using the other to hold her hand, nothing has inspired the rumor mill quite like Cas getting into a fight over her.

It’s puzzling; surely, gestures of affection are a much better indicator of romance than violence over an offense that remains unjust _outside_ of a romantic context? How is Cas throwing punches a surer sign of his love than spending time with her and being close?

Nevertheless, everywhere he goes today, people seem to be talking about them, and it’s all mostly approving. Twice, he’s heard it called ‘so romantic,’ and he’s lost count of how many people have said they make a ‘cute couple.’

That confuses him, too. Charlie _is _adorable, but Cas doesn’t really consider himself cute. What would they say, if they knew he was dating Dean?

He grimaces inwardly. There’d be more questions than anything else. Even if someone did manage to wrap their brains around Dean choosing _him, _of all people, he doubts they’d be called a ‘cute’ couple. They’d be called ‘interesting’ at best.

He’s walking to his last class that day, listening to another such conversation taking place where he passes, when a skinny arm reaches out to grab him. A moment later, he finds himself looking into Sam Winchester’s shrewd hazel eyes.

“Oh. Hello, Sam.” Cas doesn’t know Sam as well as he’d like; as a freshman, there’s not much reason to interact at school, and Cas doesn’t dare go to the Winchester house, even when Dean assures him John is not home. As a result, he mostly knows Sam through Dean’s stories.

Sam just narrows his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks flatly, and Cas blinks.

“What do you mean?”

“Like you don’t know.”

He really, really doesn’t.

Sam huffs, releasing him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

_But you didn’t,_ Cas wants to say, but Sam is already disappearing into the crowd.

\-----------

Charlie asks if he wants to go see a movie tonight, but Cas declines. He’s not sure if Dean will still pick him up by the aspen, but on the off-chance that he will, Cas wants to be there.

His hopes are dashed when Dean comes out of the building, arm around Carmen Hopkins’ waist, and helps her into his car.

\-----------

A few days later, it’s Cassie Robinson.

\-----------

And after the weekend — a weekend of radio silence — it’s Layla Rourke.

This is good, Cas tries to assure himself. Dean appearing to date again, while Cas and Charlie’s relationship is still interesting news, is just doubling down on the perfect cover. Absolutely no one would think they were dating.

If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d doubt it himself.

\-----------

“This isn’t working.”

Charlie drops onto the seat next to him, expression one of great frustration, and scowls at where Dean has an arm slung around Lisa Braeden, laughing together as they eat lunch.

Cas savagely bites down on a carrot.

“What’s not working?” he mutters, eye twitching as Dean turns, speaking directly into Lisa’s ear.

Dean does that to Cas a lot, because Cas’s ears are sensitive, and Dean supposedly loves the way Cas shivers when he does it.

Cas isn’t shivering much, lately. Or at all.

He wonders if Lisa is.

“The plan!” she clarifies, shooting him an anxious glance. “You’re still stuck pining and he — he’s not even _looking _at you.”

Cas tears his peanut butter and jelly into two jagged halves, even though he usually just eats it whole.

“I’m not pining.”

Dean laughs at something Lisa says, and a flash of movement beneath the table catches Cas’s eye as Dean's hand comes to rest on her leg.

Dean should consider a career in acting. Cas can hardly tell the difference between real and fake.

He wonders if he can at all.

“You just spent two minutes staring at them while I watched!” Charlie points out, shaking him. “And no matter how gross and sappy we’ve been, right in front of him, it’s like he just doesn’t react.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t care,” Cas suggests grimly.

“Oh, hell, no. He didn’t spend months not dating anybody while he snuck glances and pulled your figurative pigtails to suddenly just not _care._” She shakes her head. “Nope, know what I think?”

“What do you think?”

Cas tears off an enormous bite of sandwich, chewing with his mouth full as Lisa holds out a pringle and Dean takes it between his teeth with a wolfish grin.

“I think he’s onto us.”

Dean jerks his head upward, the pringle briefly becoming airborne before he catches it back in his mouth and eats it, Lisa laughing delightedly beside him.

_Ridiculous, _he thinks viciously. Dean is not a _dog. _Why does she even find that funny?

“In fact, I think he’s trying to psych us out.”

Dean dips a french fry in ketchup, lifting it to her mouth, and she eyes it for a second before eating it straight from his hand. A smear of ketchup is left behind, and she glances up beneath her lashes before reaching her tongue to the tip of his finger, licking it clean and holding Dean’s gaze all the while.

Cas tries to swallow the bite of sandwich, but for some reason it won’t go down. Actually, the rest of his lunch feels more like it’s going to come back up.

Charlie pinches him.

“Stop staring! He’s going to know he’s getting to you.”

“I’m not — he’s not getting to me,” Cas says, once he’s finally managed to force the bite down. “Besides, I don’t think — I doubt he’s trying to ‘psych us out.’”

Charlie looks incredulous.

“Oh, my _God. _Yeah, no. Who’s the expert, here?”

Cas squints.

“The expert on wh—”

“Me, Cas. I am the expert. So, if Dean wants to play games? Let’s play a game, bitch.”

\-----------

“I don’t know about this, Charlie,” Cas says, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped closet. There’s a mop handle batting at his shoulder, but no matter how many times he pushes it out of the way, it just falls back into him.

“Trust me, this is gonna work. Kissing and handholding is nothing to guys like Dean. If we’re gonna light a fire under his ass — enough that he pulls his head out of it — we’re gonna have to go big.”

Cas is briefly distracted from the sick feeling in his stomach, puzzling over this metaphor.

A tiny light goes on in the darkness as Charlie checks her phone clock.

“Okay, Becky’ll be here in like, two minutes. She’s already agreed to tell everyone she caught us in _flagrante, _but just in case she’s not alone, we should probably work on a convincing pose.” She rubs her hands together. “Yikes, after today, I’m gonna be _that kind of girl. _Wild!”

“What kind of girl?” he asks, confused.

There’s a pause.

“Actually, you know what, you’re right! I’m a grown-ass woman, sort of, and if I wanna get down and dirty with my dorky, honor-defending boyfriend in a janitor’s closet, that’s nobody’s business!” she declares, then quickly adds, “Except it is, because we need everyone to gossip and tell Dean about it.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Cas asks, for what feels like the dozenth time. Charlie huffs, tugging him close and starting to arrange his hands.

“This is a _great _idea. Right now, Dean thinks you’re playing a game of chicken. He needs to know he stands to lose you for real if he doesn’t man up and go after what he wants.” She sighs. “Honestly, this is my fault. We had like, a thirty-minute conversation about Princess Leia in the slave bikini when we were fourteen, so even if I didn’t technically come out, he probably has his suspicions. All those girls? That’s him calling our bluff.”

She slides his hand under her shirt and then promptly shoves it back out.

“Oof, that feels weird, nevermind. Ummm, how about — ooh, that’s _it_!” Charlie backs away, hopping up onto a plastic chest of drawers, and shimmies around, rucking up her skirt.

“Okay, now come stand in front of me, and then if I do the koala thing with my legs and you put your other hand on the drawers — the drawers-drawers, not my underpants-drawers — under my skirt on my other side, it’ll totally look like we’re up to no good without any weird touching involved.”

Overall, Cas still thinks this is a bad idea, but as far as ideas within the bad idea go, this one is pretty good. He steps forward, letting Charlie thread her fingers through his hair while he puts one hand on her waist and slides the other under the fabric of her skirt where it splays across the drawer chest on the side not quite visible from the door.

Charlie hooks her legs around him just as a loud clatter erupts, the precarious mop toppling over without him there to hold it up.

She squeaks, startled, and a moment later, the door swings open.

“Uh, is someone in h—”

Cas blinks at the sudden flood of light, and it takes him a moment to realize the person gaping in horror is Dean.

“Uh,” he starts, struggling to find his voice. It doesn’t come. They stare at each other, and Cas is suddenly horribly conscious of the hands in his hair, Charlie’s ankles crossed at the small of his back.

“Shit,” she whispers.

There’s a long, terrible silence. Cas wills himself to move, but finds himself frozen instead.

Dean swallows, throat bobbing visibly with the movement.

“Well,” he starts, face suddenly blank. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

The door starts to shut, light escaping with it.

And then it swings back open.

“Actually, you know what? No. Nuh-uh. No fuckin’ way,” Dean mutters to himself, advancing into the closet and seizing Cas by the shoulders. “You? You’re comin’ with me. And _you -_” Dean growls, leaning in close to a wide-eyed Charlie as he shoves Cas behind him. “You’re _never_ getting your Wonder Woman comic back.”

Charlie’s jaw drops.

“_What_?” she shrieks. “You said you didn’t have it!”

“I _lied!” _he shouts back, smile vicious, and she scrambles off the drawer chest, poking his chest.

“That’s _mine, _Winchester! You’ve got no right—”

“Turnabout’s fair-fuckin’-play, Bradbury,” he interrupts coldly, and pushes Cas out in the hall. “_Walk._”

Cas’s brain is still short-circuiting, so he does.

\-----------

Dean hasn’t said a word since he marched him out of the closet, but Cas has a sneaking suspicion he is maybe, possibly, a little bit in _trouble._

_ Perhaps, _he should have talked to Dean about his plan, after all.

Dean leads him to the parking lot, unlocking Baby and manhandling Cas into the passenger seat and slamming the door before circling to the driver’s side.

Cas almost protests, because this probably means he’s going to miss his last two classes, but one look at Dean’s stormy profile has him biting his tongue.

Eventually, though, he can’t take the silence.

“That wasn’t what it—” he starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘looked’ and ‘like,’ I swear to God, Cas, I’m pulling over and gagging you with your own stupid fucking tie.”

Cas frowns.

“There’s no need for threats.”

Dean just ignores him, shaking his head.

“Anyway, I’ve had enough of your — your —_whatever _this is. You and Charlie are done.”

Cas hesitates.

“It really wasn’t what it looked like,” he says in a rush.

“Son of a _bitch, _Cas!” Dean snaps, slapping the wheel in frustration. “What was it, then? What is _any _of it? I have no fucking _clue _what’s going on, and you don’t seem like you’re in any hurry to fill me in. So actually, go ahead. If you’re ready to be a goddamn adult and _talk _about it, let’s do it. I’m all ears. Why are you dating Charlie?”

Cas frowns.

“Fake-dating.”

“Is it?” Dean counters, and Cas is dismayed to realize he’s dead serious.

“Of course it is. You must know that.”

“_Do I?” _Dean takes a sharp turn into a little gravel parking lot by the trail, killing the engine and shoving a hand through his hair. “I thought that. Did I like seein’ you kissing her up against her locker that day? Hell no. Did I figure you had some boneheaded scheme cooked up for some equally dumbass reason? Yes.”

“Then you know—”

“I _don’t_! I don’t know! And see, I _thought _I did, because as dumb as I am, I am ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent sure Charlie’s as gay as goddamn holiday apparel, and since you didn’t exactly say anything to _me _about breaking up, two and two do not five make. But every time I turn a fucking corner, you two are all over each other, or somebody’s _talking _about you two being all over each other, and you haven’t said a word to me in over a week, and I’m starting to think, what the hell_ do_ I know? Maybe not as much as I fucking thought!”

Cas closes his eyes, because the look on Dean’s face right now is just past what he can bear.

“You said you trusted me.”

Dean laughs, a short, ugly sound Cas never wants to hear again.

“I said a lot of stupid shit, Cas. Thought a lot, too. And I meant it. But trust can only go so far, and when I walk into a janitor’s closet in a deserted hallway to find you a couple layers of clothing away from fucking her, I’ve gotta ask: _what the hell am I supposed to think_?”

Cas’s eyes fly open.

“I would _never _—” he chokes out, and Dean scoffs.

“Right, so what _was _that, then? Practice for the show? A show I’ve still got no fuckin’ clue why you’re even putting on? If you don’t wanna do this, just — just man up and tell me. I can handle a breakup. I _can’t _handle you yanking me around while you play _whatever _stupid game it is you’re playing.”

Cas’s blood goes cold. A _breakup. _Dean says it like it’s nothing, and maybe it’s not, because apparently he can ‘handle it,’ but Cas — Cas doesn’t want to break up. That’s firmly second on his list of things he fears most, and to have Dean just — throw it in his face like this —

Does _Dean _want to break up?

“Is that — is that what you want?” he asks, hating how small his voice comes out, and Dean recoils.

“What? No. That’s — jesus, are you hearing me at _all_?”

Cas shakes his head, still reeling over the fact that Dean is more angry about Cas’s mysterious schemes than them breaking up.

Which, if he thinks about it, shouldn’t be a surprise, given Dean’s recent company. After all, it’s not like he’s had _Cas’s. _No, all Cas has done the last couple of weeks is ignore Dean while he tries to convince everyone he’s with Charlie, and even if Cas was doing it for Dean, doing it because of Dean, so they could stay together and Dean wouldn’t be hurt — what good is a boyfriend you never see? A boyfriend you can’t talk to and laugh with and touch?

A boyfriend who doesn’t _listen_, like Cas?

“If — if you’d rather date one of those girls —” those girls he doesn’t have to _hide, _those girls who aren’t so busy trying to do just that that they can’t give Dean the attention he deserves “— then — then we ca—”

“_Are you fucking kidding me_?” Dean explodes, face red, and Cas goes still, startled.

“No? I — this isn’t a joking matter—”

“_Stop! _Just — just stop it!” he snaps, jaw clenched. “Jesus _fuck, _to think I thought your cluelessness was _cute._”

Cas’s eyes sting. He doesn’t want Dean to stop thinking he’s cute, but Dean seems so angry right now, Cas wouldn’t be surprised if Dean didn’t think _anything _about him after this.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Dean buries his face in his hands with a groan.

“God _damn _it, Cas, don’t — don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Cas asks, voice thick. There’s some kind of terrible, inconvenient lump in his throat right now, and it’s making it difficult to talk.

“Like I just — fed your new kitten to a boa. I don’t know. I’m not —” Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath, and when he lifts his head, his eyes are wet. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not — I _never _wanted to hurt you.”

Cas swallows, though the lump remains.

“I know,” he manages, looking down. “It’s not — I won’t blame you, if you — if you think we should break up. I know you stood to lose a lot by dating me in the first place, a-and —” his voice falters, dropping to a whisper. “I’m very grateful for the time we had.”

Dean makes a frustrated noise beside him, and he reaches for Cas’s hand.

“Cas,” he implores. “Please. I”m begging you here; just — just _talk _to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on with you, man.”

Cas shrugs.

“Does it matter?”

Dean’s grip on his hand tightens.

“You fucking _drama queen, _of course it fucking matters! I’ve been going crazy for two weeks trying to answer that question, so _yes, _you dick, it matters!”

“Please don’t call me names,” Cas mumbles, and Dean throws up his hands.

“_Okay, _then,” he grits out. “Sweetheart. Light of my soul, beautiful angel mine, my deeply beloved dumbass—” Cas frowns. “_Please _explain to me why you have a girlfriend.”

“Because — Uriel figured out I liked you.”

Dean blinks.

“Sorry, what?”

Cas sighs, forlorn.

“I was so busy making sure no one thought you cared about me, I forgot what _I _must look like. Uriel realized I was putting myself in your path on purpose.”

“I _told _you—” Dean starts, and Cas throws him a withering glare.

“I’m aware. That doesn’t change that it was a problem.”

Dean purses his lips.

“So you thought if you got a fake girlfriend, it’d throw them off your scent.”

“Yes,” Cas admits.

“You _idiot._”

“It worked,” he insists, defensive.

“Why the hell didn’t you just _tell _me?”

Cas clamps his jaw shut, and Dean narrows his eyes.

“Cas.”

He breathes out through his nose.

“_Because,_” he mutters. “You were — you were right. About my first plan. And I knew you’d be — well, _you _— and you wouldn’t even listen to this one.”

“You’re damn right, I wouldn’t, because they’re both _dumb plans._”

“I did what I had to do, Dean!” he snaps, irritated, and Dean snorts.

“No, you didn’t, because you didn’t have to do _any _of that! And I _told _you that, from the _beginning, _and if you hadn’t been an idiot, we wouldn’t be here—”

“I am _not _an idiot! I’m sorry if you disagree with my methods,” he’s not, but it seems like the polite thing to say, “but I stand by my reasons.”

Dean’s head falls back against the seat with a thump.

“Oh, my _God,_” he mumbles. “And what reasons are those?”

“You _know. _So no one would find out.”

“Yeah? Why do you _care_?”

“How can you even ask that, Dean? I’m tryingto _protect _you!” Cas hisses. “Since you’re clearly not going to do it yourself!”

Dean just looks at him like he’s crazy.

“From _what_? Will it suck if everyone knows I bat for both teams when my sport isn’t even baseball? Sure! Will it suck worse than —” he gestures wildly with his hand. “— all _this_? I fuckin’ doubt it!”

Cas grits his teeth.

“From your _father._”

Dean pauses.

“What about him?” he asks carefully, and no, they’ve never talked about this, but Cas isn’t stupid, and he’s spent _years, _if he’s being honest, watching Dean. He _knows._

“I don’t — I don’t want him to hurt you.”

There’s another long silence.

“Alright,” Dean says slowly. “Me either. But — come on, Cas. It’s not like he’d actually kill me or anything. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

Cas shakes his head.

“There are other ways to hurt someone.”

“Yeah, well, you certainly know,” Dean shoots back, not missing a beat, and Cas flinches.

Dean sighs.

“Okay, fine. Thanks for worrying about it, I guess, but please, stop. Whatever happens, it’s — I’ll get through it. Will he probably kick my ass? Yeah. Will he throw me out of the house? Possibly. So _what_?”

Cas opens his mouth, and Dean glares.

“So I patch myself up and go live with Ellen and you don’t fucking marry my former best friend to prove a point.”

Cas shakes his head.

“But what about Sam?”

Finally, Dean falters.

“Okay. Fine. Sam.” He swallows, pressing his lips together. “But — then we just be careful, like we always have been. The rest of it, though? Me callin’ you names and pushing you into lockers and you puttin’ on a show with your fake girlfriend? I can’t handle that. It’s fucking with me and it’s fucking with us and _we don’t need it._”

Cas can’t argue with that; he maintains that his plan worked, after a fashion, but it’s certainly causing unintended consequences.

And then it hits him, what Dean’s just said.

“Does that mean — we aren’t breaking up?”

Dean subjects him to the most scathing look he’s seen in his life.

“If you wanna get rid of me, you’re gonna have to use your words to fuckin’ say so. Otherwise, _no, _Cas, I’m not letting you go for anything.”

Hope crashes through him with joyous exuberance.

But — if Dean really feels that way —

“What about all the girls?”

Dean narrows his eyes.

“Seriously?”

“If you still want me, then — then why have you been . . .” he trails off, not sure how to describe it, and Dean rolls his eyes, slumping into the seat.

“Wanted you to know how it felt.”

“How what felt?”

Dean side-eyes him.

“Being jealous. Being so jealous you can barely think — so jealous you either wanna vomit or punch everything.”

Cas swallows.

“Why would you want me to know that?” He does know, now, and it’s _awful._

“Because that’s how _you _were making _me _feel.”

“But Charlie and I weren’t really—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Dean snaps. “Trust me, it really doesn’t. Just — c’mon, man, it was _killing _me. I don’t care if it was real or not; you were all over school, holding hands and kissing her, and I don’t — _I_ can’t do that with you, and I hated it. I heard people say what a cute couple you make and I wanted to fucking hit something, because they were acting like this was _right_ when it’s so fucking _wrong_. ‘Cause I — I don’t want you to make a cute couple with anybody but _me_. _I_ wanna be able to just — hold your hand and kiss you where everybody can see.”

“Oh.”

Dean’s not done.

“Except I also don’t,” he mumbles, and Cas looks at him, questioning. “I don’t, ‘cause I don’t want anyone else to know how damn sweet you get when I kiss you, ‘cause I’m afraid if they figure out what you’re really like behind the business casual and weird, expressionless mask, they’ll start gettin’ ideas. Which is fucked up as all get out, but there you have it, Cas. I’m fucked up and I lo— like you _so much, _and even though I wanna keep you all to myself, it also pisses me off that nobody else knows you’re mine.”

Cas takes a moment, processing this. It’s a lot. A lot of —_good _things, but still — a lot.

“Oh, fuck you,” Dean grumbles, and Cas blinks.

“Sorry?”

“Get that dumb fucking grin off your face, you ass. Do you know what the last two weeks have been like, for me? It’s not fair that I have to suffer _that_ much and you just turn around and get that stupid happy look on your face instead of bawling me out for bein’ a possessive dick.”

“Ah,” Cas says, trying to school his expression into one of sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Dean glares.

“Very sorry,” he tries again, though he can’t quite recall what contrition feels like. He’s rather distracted by an unfamiliar but deeply welcome _euphoria. _“You, ah. You shouldn’t say things like that. People don’t, um. They don’t belong to other people.”

“Right.” Dean sighs. “I guess you tried.”

Cas beams, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Alright, asshole. Back seat, now.”

Cas’s foot clips Dean in the face in his haste to climb over the seat, and Dean follows after him, grumbling and rubbing his cheek.

“So goddamn reckless. Always just going after what you want, regardless of who gets hurt.”

“I’m _very _sorry, Dean,” Cas says earnestly, pushing Dean’s jacket off his shoulders.

“Yeah, you will be,” he mutters, batting Cas’s hands away and reaching for his trench coat. “Why the hell were you in the closet with Charlie, anyway? You never said.”

“Oh. Uh, Becky was supposed to come by and throw open the door so everyone would think we were, uh. About to — have intercourse.”

Dean pauses, leaving Cas to flail his way out of the other sleeve.

“Lemme get this straight. You set that up so people would know for sure — or think they knew — that you guys were fucking?”

“It wasn’t my idea?”

“What the _hell, _Chuckles?” he demands, staring out the window with hard eyes, and then looks back at Cas. “You brawling over her good name wasn’t enough?”

Cas hesitates, eyeing Dean’s shirt. He’d like to start taking it off, but Dean seems very focused right now.

“For others, maybe, but not you.”

“Not me — what does _that _mean?” His expression turns thunderous. “Hold the fuck up — is that why you guys came to the Roadhouse? Were you — you _wanted _me to be jealous?”

There’s a thread of hurt in there, and Cas hastens to soothe it.

“No, no. I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. But, uh. Charlie . . .”

Dean clenches his fists.

“This was about the comic, wasn’t it? She wanted revenge, huh? Well, I don’t know what she told you, but I saw that comic first, and I know she tripped me on purpose when we—”

Cas frowns.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“That’s not — it wasn’t about the comic.”

“Oh.”

“Although she does maintain she saw it before you and you were just clumsy.”

“Son of a—”

“Charlie doesn’t know we’re dating.”

Dean stops short.

“You didn’t tell your girlfriend you had a boyfriend?” He sounds outraged, and Cas presses a soothing hand to his unfortunately-still-clothed chest.

“I didn’t want her to accidentally out you.”

“What did she think you were doing here?”

“She thought we were trying to make you jealous so you’d admit you liked me.”

“And how the _fuck _does closet sex come into play?”

Cas shrugs.

“You were seeing all those girls again. She suspected you’d guessed she was a lesbian, and you were calling our bluff.”

Dean pitches forward, burying his face in Cas’s shoulder with a groan.

“I don’t fuckin’ believe this.”

Cas shrugs again.

“I suppose I could have handled it better,” he admits, and a moment later, Dean starts shaking.

It takes a second for Cas to realize he’s _laughing._

“It’s not funny, Dean.”

“Ohhh, yes it is. You _dumbass_,” he says, and despite the warmth in his tone, Cas bristles.

Only briefly, though, because then Dean is kissing him, and oh, thank God, they haven’t kissed for _two weeks, _and Cas has missed him like a primary limb.

Dean pulls back way too soon, and Cas tries to follow, chasing his mouth.

A hand on his chest presses him back.

“Not so fast, buddy,” he says. “I’ve got conditions.”

Cas scowls.

“Alright.” He doesn’t exactly have a choice, does he?

Dean looks amused, and then something smooth and plastic slides against Cas’s palm.

He looks down at Dean's phone in confusion.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Dean grins, leaning close, and Cas’s bewilderment fades in the face of the potential for more kisses.

“You,” he whispers. “Are going to call your girlfriend.”

“Now?” Cas asks, baffled, and Dean touches their noses together, breath warm on Cas’s face.

“Right now.”

“Why?”

“So you can break up with her.”

Cas groans.

“Dean, we aren’t actually dating!”

“’S’not what you told everybody else.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, Cas, but I’m just not the kind of guy who fools around with a man who’s taken.”

“You’re _absurd,_” he grouses, but he’s already dialing. “The only person by whom I’m taken is — oh, hello, Charlie?”

“Cas!” she squeals. “How did it go? Is one of you dead or were there love confessions?”

“Uh, not exa-exactly,” he stutters, giving Dean a sharp look as he idly unbuttons Cas’s jeans, watching him with a deceptively innocent expression.

“_What_? Dude, he basically whisked you away from his rival’s embrace. Don’t you dare tell me he’s still trying to pretend he doesn’t—”

Cas frantically pushes at Dean’s shoulder, but Dean barely budges, deft fingers working the zipper and —

“We need to break up,” Cas says in a rush, face hot. “Sorry.”

There’s silence, and Dean pauses, arching a brow.

_Sorry_? he mouths, and Cas glares.

“Um, Cas. You, uh. You know we’re not really dating, right?”

Cas shuts his eyes as Dean’s palms come to rest on either thigh, gently stroking up and down.

“I’m aware. However, Dean insisted.”

“Oh, my God, that is so like him,” she mutters, and then pauses. “Wait, that means — so it worked? Are you guys boyfriends now?”

Dean appears to have lost interest in the conversation, peering down at Cas’s lap with a mild, curious expression Cas doesn’t buy for a second.

“Yes. I mean, we already . . .” he trails off as Dean cracks a smile and leans down —”_Charlie. _I’ll — I’ll tell you all about it later!”

“You’d better—”

Dean’s grip on his thighs suddenly tightens, and then—

Cas yelps.

There’s a pause on the line.

“The _hell, _Novak?” She sounds incredulous. “Are you seriously — call me old-fashioned, but you guys _just _— actually, no, I don’t care about that. You are _on the phone. _With _me!_”

“Y-you can get off,” Cas offers desperately, and at that, Dean shoots upright, bursting into delighted laughter.

“Ewwww,” Charlie whines. “You’re both disgusting and I want my Wonder Woman comic back!”

“I’ll tell him,” Cas says shortly, and hangs up, glowering. “There. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Can’t believe you dumped her over the phone,” Dean says, shaking with mirth. “That’s cold, Cas.”

“You _told _me to-”

“Oh, so _now _you do what I tell you-” Dean starts, and Cas has had enough.

“Well, you know what, Dean?” he bites out, and Dean has the nerve to look amused.

“What’s that, Cas?”

“I think you should give her the Wonder Woman comic.”

Dean sits back on his heels, pensive.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Cas says, spiteful. “She _did _pay for it.”

“Mm.” Dean’s quiet for another moment, and then he shrugs. “Yeah, alright. She can have it.”

Cas blinks.

“Really?”

Dean tosses him a wry smile, crawling back over Cas.

“Sure. I got something _much _better.”

Cas’s annoyance dissipates, and he can’t help the shy smile that spreads across his face.

“Oh. What, uh, what is that?”

Dean kisses him, a surprisingly chaste peck, and withdraws to look at Cas, gaze tender.

“Well, Cas. Did I ever tell you about my _Batman _comic?”

\-----------

Cas is suddenly sorry he dumped his girlfriend.

\---- END ----

**Author's Note:**

> Sidenote, for anyone who is uncomfortable with the idea of Dean stealing Charlie’s Wonder Woman comic, Dean is still quite young in this and would have done so as a subconscious effort to leave a point of connection with her intact. Obviously, that doesn’t make it okay, but he wasn’t just being a dick, either, if it helps.


End file.
